


Quickening

by Chromophilic_Daydream



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, post rok, pre all other canon events after jungle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7502022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromophilic_Daydream/pseuds/Chromophilic_Daydream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moments that make up a simple five minutes can have an everlasting effect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quickening

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes when I can't sleep, I do terrible things. Repetition is one of my absolute favorite writing styles, so I hope you enjoy!

The photograph he held was worthless.

The finer details had been washed away by years of overexposure from the dusty spot it once proudly hung on the bar wall. The corners were bent, the colors were faded and blended together with a yellowish tone that negated the warmth that should have been present. The photo was obviously shot by an amateur, even just by looking at it one could tell... the contrast was too low and everything was too dark. The act of staring at it for too long made his eyes burn with a familiar sting that had been threatening to overthrow him at any given moment. 

The photograph was a worthless substitute. But it was all he had right now.

He had stolen them, if you could call it that, right off the wall of the place he hated the most, that the other loved the most. That place stole Misaki away in the first place, so it was only right to take back what was his. Even if the photos, those moments captured in them weren't really his at all. But his conviction gave his hands the strength not to shake. The lock was way too easy to pick... like the action of actually locking the establishment was just a formality. 

It only took him five minutes to break into this hellish place. 

Five minutes that resulted a quickening breath, a dismissal of change, a trembling grip on photos that belonged to him, didn't belong to him, and never a look back over his shoulder as he slammed the door behind him. 

In his arms were frames covered in a light layer of grime that trapped images of the past that was the only future he clung to now. Five minutes for five photos of a face that was gone forever.

The photographs themselves were worth everything.

He was sure in the morning he would get the call and he was going to be reprimanded on his theft and for leaving Scepter 4 grounds. He was sure he would have to put them back. He'd rather burn them than give them back. He would rather die than return Misaki back to the wall that was nothing but a reminder of the separation that divided them. He would rather no one have him then to lose him again.

His eyes strained in the poor light that glowed in his room from the lamp on his desk. It was hard to focus on his face. He cursed the grounds Homra stood for not protecting these more photos more carefully, like Misaki protected them all these years. A bitter taste formed at the back of his tongue that he swallowed. And swallowed again. He knew he would vomit soon, it had become a familiar sensation over the last week.

He sat up in the bottom bunk of his room and rubbed his exhausted eyes under his glasses, the stinging ever so present. The photos were strewn out over the sheets he had never used before. This was the first time he had been on this bed but the light was better down here from the lamp. Looking up at the top bunk, he felt inclosed, trapped in this small space. The lack of a familiar ceiling made his stomach clench. He wondered vaguely if this is what a urn felt like. Was this how Misaki was going to feel for the rest of time, ashes pressed and compacted into a small space and tucked away forever? 

No one was going to see his face ever again. It was a reality that hit him every minute of every day. He was never going to see his face again.

He could only visit moments trapped in the past through these worthless photographs. Moments that had nothing to do with him.

A wracking sigh passed his lips that shook his entire body. In five minutes he'd recover, the feeling would pass.  
Five minutes that would slip into the rest of his life. Recovery was not a possibility, but a delusion due to the deprivation of sleep and the utter denial of what had happened last week. Denial that he was slowly processing through.

He shifted the first photo to the second. This one was closer, even more fuzzy. Misaki's smiling face made his chest seize in longing and regret. He gently touched it with his finger, mindful not to smudge that smile that was so radiant. Even in this poor quality photo, Misaki's smile was warm and passionate. 

The photograph felt smooth and cold and it began to resonate with him just how wrong this all was. Misaki was captured in a perfect image of a happy time where he was rough and warm. The result of his life was just this flimsy paper that could be so easily ripped, so easily destroyed and by his own hands. Everything opposite of Misaki. Misaki could never be destroyed by him. 

They really were fucking worthless photographs. He hated them. 

He hated them all.

He never even told Misaki the truth. He never even told Misaki all the things he wanted to. He never told Misaki why he left Homra. He never told Misaki he was sorry. He never told Misaki how he felt. He never told Misaki he didn't hate him. He never told Misaki he loved him. He never told Misaki anything.

He never told him.

He never told him.

He never told him.

He never would be able to tell him now.

He only had five minutes to beg Misaki not to die in his arms.

He only had one chance to tell him everything he wanted to that his pain wouldn't allow him to.

He only had one chance to say he was sorry.

His only had one chance to do so and all he could do was beg his friend not to leave him.

He only had these worthless photos now.

And that was all he was ever going to have until he was forced to return them in the morning. 

The thoughts overwhelmed him in a quickening rate, thoughts that he kept away since Awashima took his bloodstained uniform away from him. The gravity of the situation hit him and knocked the breath out of his lungs. He was burning from the inside out as the sick feeling in his stomach rose up his throat and past his lips.

He grabbed the waste basket beside him and heaved nothing but air out. There was nothing to throw up anyhow but feeling of nausea kept him there for five more minutes. Pain flared in his shoulders and spine his heavy breathing and he slumped back against the smooth, cold wall. 

In the morning, he'd be checked up on. It had become a ritual over the last few days. A knock on the door, a questioning of his condition, and then a look of sympathy that made his skin crawl. Everyone had to keep an eye on him since he was officially off duty pending therapy. Like a therapist could fix any of this. Nothing could fix any of this. He was coping just fine. Coping like he deserved. 

He didn't deserve to cope.

No, he deserved to trade places with the ash that stained in inside of the simple urn that was wrenched out of his hands last week. That was the only thing in the world that could make this right. No amount therapy, no amount of coworkers fretting over him, no amount of photographs. Misaki...

Things had been awkward between them since Jungle and he regretted with bitter resentment that he never got to grab that drink with his former friend. He was hesitant to do so. What he was so afraid of, he couldn't even remember anymore. He regretted not taking up the offer when he could... before he watched his friend's life fade away in his arms.

It was a miscalculation, an oversight that happened in seconds but left permanent holes in his life that would never be filled again. He had never been more eager to use his knives on someone before then than on the bastard that ran Misaki through during the Strain resistance that followed up Jungle. Nothing had been quite as satisfying than watching that bastard bleed out after that very bastard made Misaki bleed out. It was a dull sensation that drummed in his chest, revenge coursing through him as thick as the blood on his uniform. Revenge numbed him from the neck down as he stabbed the man countless times. 

He barely recalled the following days after; between paperwork dealing the attack, pitying looks from his co workers and king, the official announcement that he would have to be place under surveillance, it all seemed to pass in a blur. He vaguely acknowledged the new rules that were in place for him, that he couldn't leave Scepter 4 premises. He didn't care though, only did he plan on breaking that rule once and that was to grab photos that belonged to him. No one noticed when he left that night. He had only left for an hour. 

That hour felt longer than the entire week had. The last seven days slipped away like those last five minutes of Misaki's life. Slipped away like the hope that began to rebuild inside of him. Slipped away like the photos of Misaki would in the morning. 

He cursed the moment morning would come.

He glanced to his bed and gathered the photos, looking them over again. If a picture was worth a thousand words, he would trade them in for more with Misaki. He would trade everything for that to be a reality, because in reality he only needed a few, just a few. His grip tightened as he gazed at the smile he knew so well.

"Misaki... I'm so sorry." He whispered, those few words choked by despair that was digging into his throat. 

"I never even got to tell you that I love you."

Why was it too much to ask for fifteen more words with the person who engulfed his entire world with warmth? 

All he had now was worthless photographs and the fear that Misaki would be taken away from him again.

He wasn't going to let these worthless photographs go without a fight. Not in a moment, not in five minutes, not in an eternity. He didn't care if he broke the rules and he would be punished. This all was punishment enough and the photos he held were the only source of warmth he had left.  
He slumped down in the bed and stared up at the bunk above him as daybreak flushed in through the window. He held the photos close to his chest and the stinging in his eyes finally gave way to tears that were long overdue. His last resolve ebbed away and his sorrow consumed him whole.

In those moments, Fushimi Saruhiko locked those pictures away inside himself. A quickening feeling of loneliness set his world on fire and he was lost in it. Those captured seconds of Misaki's that did not involve him were all that occupied his mind. It spun over and over again, around in dizzying shapes that he lost himself in as sleep overtook him five minutes later. Exhaustion etched itself into every muscle except the ones in his hand desperately clinging onto the only part of his Misaki he had left. 

Those priceless photos he would never let go of.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by a conversation I had with Melonflesh about the outcome of coping with death in relation to these characters. It's so fascinating seeing how different authors have different takes on how characters will react. So thank you Melonflesh for lighting a candle in me that gave me the urge to write again.


End file.
